


Tin Soldier

by Alliath



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:33:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliath/pseuds/Alliath
Summary: Hoping to avoid contamination of the pure vessel by the Queen's desire to mother, the Pale King drops them off with the standoffish shut-in in the spire.Almost immediately, it goes wrong.





	Tin Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenEgg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEgg/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Desecrated by Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169947) by [QueenEgg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEgg/pseuds/QueenEgg). 



           Lurien didn’t understand the widespread dislike of the rain. It was one of the many things he loved about the city. He found it consistent, reliable, and refreshing, and the gentle rhythm of it pattering against the glass often soothed him on the days nothing else did.

            Lurien was tired.

            He glanced down at the tiny, wide-eyed creature beside him at the window, still and unreadable as it gazed out at the rain.

            He shivered. He did understand the widespread dislike of the cold, though he had long grown accustomed to it, especially in the refuge of a proper cloak. Something about cold lingered, wove fingers of loneliness through the thickest fabric, or the cheeriest flickering of any number of candles.

            It didn’t help that this had happened when his assistant was gone on an errand to the archives. They’d suggested he join them, right after he’d asked them to send Monomon his regards.

            “You could visit her, Sir. I’m sure she’d be delighted to see you.”

            “Monomon is a busy woman,” he’d made excuse, and had known even despite the mask that his assistant was staring him down. “…and I couldn’t leave the city unattended. What if something _happened_?”

            “Take care of yourself, Sir,” they’d replied after a long pause, their professional demeanor laced with just the hint of an accusation that he neglected to do so when they were absent. Then the chain of the lift was singing behind them, and he was alone. He had busied himself for some time drafting possible configurations for a secure postbox system, a more efficient way to send word than runners.

            Then, something had _happened_.

            He’d expected a blocked drain in the waterways, or perhaps complications with the older gutters, though he kept a careful eye on them in an effort to replace them before complications ensued. He’d expected an administrative issue, one of the many lesser crises he’d become efficient in appraising and rectifying since he came to keep the city. He had not expected the King. Who would _expect_ the King? One did not _expect_ the King, the King simply was. The King was the mysterious fulcrum of the kingdom, loved and worshipped and distant, and _wings and tears he was right there_ , all sharp edges and brilliance, and Lurien went down on one knee without thinking.

            “Watcher,” said the King, as easily as he’d made known his presence, as easily as if he’d always been there and had been invited and expected, “I have need of you.”

            “Of course, Sire.” The words were as automatic as the posture, without accounting for schedule or suddenness. _The King needed him_. Lurien could not count the times he’d wished the King might need him; every spire in the city had been raised in tribute for this very purpose. He was so overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the King that he scarcely noticed the little creature standing beside him until the King drew his attention to them with a gesture. They were impossibly tiny, tinier than a tiktik, the eyes in their horned mask two perfect ovals, so precise they could not have been carved by hand, with no glean of life or light behind them.

            “I have business,” said the King, and Lurien snapped back to attention. “The Queen is inappropriate in her influence on this vessel. Mind it for me.”

            “Of course, Sire.” Lurien might have been frustrated at his inability to muster any other words in his King’s presence, had not the monarch seemed so approving of this very fact. It wasn’t until he felt the King’s gaze leave him, a relief of pressure as if all those edges were blunted, like the backside of a knife, that he found more. “What would you have me do with them?”

            The sense of pressure returned, though the King’s voice was deceptively mild, as was the unfurling of his hand.

            “It,” the King corrected. “It is a vessel. It is empty. You are my Watcher, are you not?” Despite the slight upturn of his voice, it was clear it was not a question, and he expected no answer. “ _Watch_ it.”

            So Lurien had.

            In the beginning, it had not required much effort. For quite some time after the King left them… it… them… it stood right where he’d left it, looking after him with those perfectly crafted eyes. It did not look at Lurien at all. Finally, it made its way to the window to stare out at the rain. For lack of anything else to do, Lurien had joined it. They stood there, side by side, watching the rain. Lurien wondered if the little vessel found the sound soothing, as he did, or irritating, as so many other bugs did, and he found himself asking it, offering it a better look through the telescope.

            For the first time, it looked up at him, silent. It wasn’t merely that no reflection of the candlelight flickered behind the mask to betray any sign of chitin or eyelid; the darkness there was so deep and complete one felt drawn into it, like a whirlpool. Lurien looked away and sighed.

            “I don’t even know what to call you, little one.”

            The vessel didn’t answer, but he could feel it looking at him, just as he’d felt the King looking at him, and Lurien felt it when the vessel turned its eyes back to the rain… or thought he did. The next time he looked down at it, the vessel was gone.

            He'd spent years dealing with shattered skylights or broken lifts, creating fire codes and zoning procedures, making appearances clarifying the city charter before any number of bugs confidently and competently, yet the burst of panic that flared through him at the absence of this one little vessel sent his heart into his throat. He whirled to find it not far away, seated on top of a bookcase, and the corresponding wave of relief prevented him from losing his composure.

            “Ah, little one, you frightened me. How under the earth did you get up there so quickly?” It regarded him with the same wordless, bottomless stare. “Perhaps you… that isn’t the…” Lurien shook himself and cleared his throat. This was nonsense; he marshaled five enormous knights with calm and dignity. “Please come down,” he requested firmly. “That isn’t safe.”

            The little vessel stood. As it did, a single sheet of paper slipped from beneath its feet and fluttered slowly to the floor. It froze, watching the permit’s descent. It kicked twice more, sending two more sheets flying. It paused, looking at the papers, then at Lurien. Before he could repeat himself, it sprang to life, kicking both feet out in a rapid little dance that flung papers right and left, falling like parade streamers and confetti. For a single moment, Lurien was stunned. Then all he could do was laugh. It… no. No. They. They were enjoying themselves too much for him to stop them, so he folded his arms and laughed helplessly until they’d shuffled the entire stack to the floor. Satisfied, they leapt up and down and waved their arms.

            “Oh. Oh my,” Lurien managed once he got back his breath. “Well, now I’m relieved my assistant is out on business, little one. They’d have quite a fit over this mess.”

            The little creature sat down again, pleased with themselves, and kicked both feet like a child dipping toes in blue lake.

            “I’m glad you had fun,” Lurien tried to admonish them, but the vessel froze again, and tilted their head to one side, staring at him. “…yes, fun. You… don’t know what that means, do you?” His heart seized up a second time. “Fun is something you do for no other reason than enjoying it.” Still they stared, completely still, and Lurien sighed again. “I’m no good at this, little one. Monomon is the teacher. Ah, well. Let’s get you down.”

            Without thinking, he reached up to lift them off the bookcase, and they tensed at his touch, going stiff as a tin soldier. Lurien put them down as quickly and carefully as possible, setting them gently on the floor.

            “I apologize. I should have asked.”

            They looked up at him. This time, he met the perfect darkness of their eyes without looking away. He felt that pointed pressure again, the same he’d felt from the King, as if he were being evaluated. Just when he feared those bottomless eyes might swallow him, the little vessel looked away. Very slowly, they looked back. Very slowly, they raised their little arms to him, like any child asking to be picked up. It never occurred to Lurien to deny that request. He knelt and lifted the vessel into his arms, never considering any consequences until after they nestled comfortably against him.

            “You aren’t empty at all, are you, little one?”

            For the first time, they made a sound, a sort of wordless thrumming like the stroke of a tuning fork, and pressed their forehead into his hand. He stroked them gently between the horns and they leaned into the contact, humming.

            It wasn’t until he’d finished picking up the last of the papers, the vessel still curled contentedly in his arms, that Lurien thought to wonder what influence the Queen might exert that would be inappropriate for an empty vessel. The cold threatened to wind about him again, but there was a place it couldn’t touch; the same place where the little vessel snuggled against him. It was too late for reservations, far too late. He placed the stack of permits back on the bookcase and carried the vessel to the telescope.

            The remainder of their time together was even simpler; the little vessel would not let him put them down, even refusing a turn at the telescope in favor of remaining where they were. It was fortunate Lurien was accustomed to multitasking; anything he chose to complete, he completed carrying the vessel. He was just considering whether he ought to attempt making them some sort of place to sleep when all at once they bolted upright in his arms, then _flailed_ , thrashing wildly and straining toward the floor.

            “All right, all right, careful now, I don’t want to drop you,” Lurien murmured, setting them down as gently as he could given their desperate wriggling. They straightened at once, as rigid as Lurien’s knights at attention, and returned to the window where they’d first stood, staring blankly at the rain.

            Lurien had just enough time to puzzle over the change when the room bloomed with the brilliant, overwhelming presence of the King.

            _They’d known_. Somehow, they’d _known_. They moved again to the King’s side, slowly and deliberately, as Lurien returned to one knee in respect and deference to his beloved monarch.

            “Well done, Watcher,” said the King, and the light ebbed, all the candles following the King as he turned. Lurien knew he ought to leave it at that, or answer it with the same three words, of course Sire, but it plucked at him, at his very heartstrings, and this time he had to manage more.

            “Sire?” There was no answer, but the King was listening. Lurien raised his eyes, and the King’s instantly locked with them. The King’s gaze was as pointed and undeniable as his presence, and it was all Lurien could do to get the words out in his awe. “Are you certain they’re empty?”

            If the little vessel’s silence had been unnerving, the King’s was deafening. Lurien couldn’t lower his gaze until the King spoke, and only then with the same conviction that drove him to manage an entire city.

            “Watcher. _Lurien_.” Lurien’s heart knotted with conflicting emotions. He had waited, even prayed, for years that someday the King might call him by name. Now that he had, the heaviness of the three syllables as they fell made him wish it would never happen again. “The Queen has ruined countless vessels with needless sentimentality. This one is perfect. This one must remain pure. Do you understand?”

            _No._

            “Of course, Sire.”

            Lurien looked again at the little vessel, their stare as stiff and blank as it had never danced on the bookcase, and this time, his heart broke. He did understand. They wanted to be empty. They needed to be empty. They wanted to be whatever the King wanted. Whatever the King had the most need of, that was what the vessel wanted to be, more than anything.

            “Watcher,” said the King, very softly, “Do you love me?”

            The words were automatic, but they were no less true because of it.

            “More than my life, Sire.”

            “Do not question this again.”

            It took Lurien some time to rise, even after they’d both gone. He returned not to the telescope, but to the window, where he and the little vessel had stood. It was not sound of the rain that comforted him.

            It was the knowledge that he was not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I was absolutely charmed by QueenEgg's AU where Lurien the Watcher keeps an eye on the Pure Vessel when the King is out setting up his chessboard. I thought this might be a good explanation for how the plan went forward even though both of them knew the vessel was not empty; both of them have the same center square on their bad decision Bingo card.
> 
> The Tin Soldier is a story by Hans Christian Andersen, with similar decisions.
> 
> Pronouns are supposed to be "it" prior to the realization the vessel isn't empty; "them" after. Let me know if I missed one so I can fix it. :)


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